Your lungs burned.

Each step echoed like a gunshot through the empty corridors of Tokyo’s forgotten underbelly. Neon signs flickered above shattered windows, casting fractured light on the cracked pavement. Behind you, the sound of claws scraping concrete grew louder—closer.

The Ghoul was gaining.

You didn’t dare look back.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else. You turned a corner too fast, your foot catching on a broken tile. The world tilted. You hit the ground hard, pain blooming in your palms and knees.

You tried to scramble up.

Too late.

The Ghoul was already there.

You curled in on yourself, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable. For the tearing. The end.

But it never came.

Silence.

Then—a soft thud.

You opened your eyes.

The Ghoul lay motionless, its body crumpled in a heap, eyes wide and lifeless. Blood pooled beneath it, dark and still.

And standing between you and the corpse was a boy.

No—a young man.

He wore white from head to toe, his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze that whispered through the corridor. His hair was pale, his eyes unreadable, but his expression was calm. Gentle.

He turned to you, offering a hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and kind, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t know who he was.

But in that moment, he looked like a ghost.

A savior.

And maybe, just maybe, your second chance.